Revolution of the Moon
by HuaiYin
Summary: AU Jack is a graffiti artist hell bent on revolution in a city that is content in slavery. Elsa is a girl locked away trained to lead the city of fools. One moonlit night they meet and the ice castle ideals they have been living in shatters to pieces beneath their feet. Free fall is inevitable, but damn if it's not exhilarating to die. Jelsa
1. Prolouge

**Hello all, HuaiYin here. I'm trying my hand out on a crossover for the first time in a long time. For whatever reason the Jelsa pairing has captured my heart and I can't let it go. So clearly I must write.**

**This fic is AU becuase honestly every Jelsa fic is AU. But this one takes place in modern day society and faces modern day crimes. Anarchy, organized crime, oppressed human spirit, to name a few. These are a few concepts I will be exploring with this.**

**With that said let's get on with the story! I do hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I own neither Rise of the Guardians nor Frozen.**

* * *

_Hush Now, Quiet Now_

...

The night was crystal sharp darkness breathed in with steady breaths. The moon hung, a wide unblinking eye high above the dark, throwing dewy silver light upon all it saw. Perhaps he meant his sight to illumination for the wayward traveler but all the objects merely writhed under his steady gaze, gaping still shadows spilling out from their sides.

However one such maw of shadows in an alley his light barely penetrated shifted and flickered beneath him, yielding forth a figure from within it. The figure twisted, straightening itself, it's back burdened with a huge lump. He appeared to be spun of shadows himself, so draped and black and secrets was he. But the cold fingers of moonlight touched his forehead and tilted his head back, shooting stardust into blue sharded eyes and ghostpale skin. A black kerchief hid the rest of the figure's face.

Slowly the figure crept over to a brick wall, cocking his head slightly at the structure. He reached out a black gloved hand and gently ran his fingers over the bricks, not caring as the rough texture snared the soft cotton and resisted beneath his touch. He pulled back his hand and removed his glove, placing his bare hand over the cold, cold bricks. His eyes drifted closed and he breathed in deeply of the crisp night air as he listened to all the wall had to say.

A loud rattle penetrated the night as the figure swiftly dumped his backpack by his legs and yanked it open, digging around inside. He pulled out several cackling cylinders of spray paint and set them by his feet for easy access. He chose the can he wanted and shook it vigorously, wincing at the loud sound it made as he readied it. Blue eyes darted about in a nervous fashion but the rest of the world slept on, oblivious to what was about to take place.

A loud hiss tore through the air as he pressed down on the button at the top. His right hand flew across bricks; streaking it with white so bright it rivaled the moon. He switched to blue and then silver and then back to white. Fumes flurried about him and his eyes became fevered, so alight with sparks he was only able to stop when the masterpiece was done. Breathing heavily through his kerchief he stumbled back and gazed upon his work. He tore off his mask, revealing a mischievous grin as unsure as the crescent moon. In a flash the cylinders had been packed away and the figure was sinking back into black as though he'd never been there at all.

But he had been there. The spray paint upon the wall winked at the moon one last time as it dried and cemented.

When the morning dawned, the silver light would be stolen away with streaks of copper. But the graffiti remained, proud and stark against the red of the bricks. People passing by on their way to work and school gaped, mouths falling open, for once lost for words.

A huge moon took up most of the wall now, sitting against the blue put down to cushion it. Silver facets ran along its sides and bold words were printed beside it, a loud banner that couldn't be ignored.

_THE REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN. ARENDELLE BEWARE._

_End of Chapter 1_


	2. Chapter 1: Writing and Ice Upon the Wall

**And new chapter! Took me long enough right? Sorry about the delay, life is crazy and I've never been very good about commitment :/**

**Title**: Revloution of the Moon

**Author**: HuaiYin

**Chapter**: 1: Writing and Ice Upon the Wall

* * *

Arendelle City was like a glittering crown against the horizon of the earth, tall skyscrapers rising from the middle, proud and unshakable. When the sun rose from the east it shot through the glass spires with rosy beams, turning it into a city of gold and light. When the sun set the moon would rise, diluting the gold into a quicksilver that turned into dreams. It was really a beautiful city.

It was really too bad Arendelle was more corrupt than sin.

The city was ruled with an iron fist by the family for which it was named. The Arendelles were cold, and cruel, and calculating, squeezing the city of all free will. They dabbled in everything, arms dealing, drug dealing, human trafficking, all things immoral and lucrative. Any sign of rebellion would be quashed with no mercy.

People whispered that the Arendelles must have made a deal with the devil to be so successful and have circumstances so perfectly aligned in their favor. They called the head of the Arendelle family King Arendelle because no one knew his real name. King Arendelle was their ruler and master, of that there could be no doubt. All bowed before him and feared his power.

King Arendelle had a wife and family, though they were equally as shrouded in enigma as he was, perhaps even more so. His dark haired wife rarely appeared in public, unless she was being arm candy for King Arendelle. And the daughters were a complete mystery; the masses had never seen their faces. In fact, no one was even sure they existed; they had been shut up in their home since almost the day they were born. It was rumored that they were dead, or perhaps ghosts

But they were not.

Anna Arendelle and Elsa Arendelle were very much alive inside the house, and, despite the fact that they had been shut away their entire lives, were flourishing. And this…this is where our story truly begins.

...

"Conceal it, don't feel it, Elsa."

Ivory teeth gritted, sweat rolled, and hands shook. The slim girl of eighteen stood alone in the middle of the large drawing room and trembled like a tiny snowflake in the wind. In her hands she held a silver star of a gun that rattled as it rode the shockwaves of her fear.

"Elsa…" a sigh came from a dark corner of the room, "Conceal it – "

"Don't _feel_ it, I know, I _know_!" the howl was terrified and desperate; spewing out of the girl's open mouth, "I just _can't_!" the gun flew across the room, slamming against the opposite wall. She breathed heavily, eyes watery with tears.

Dark frost seemed to crawl from the corner and douse the room in a cold commandeering blanket. The shadows in the corner heaved a sigh and parted, revealing a tall imposing man. He came over to the still shaking girl stared at down her. She flinched at his snow globe gaze, where things fell gently in beautiful patterns of destruction while the centerpieces remained unchained.

"One day…" the man said softly, "You will take my place, Elsa. All this," he swept his arm across the room, highlighting the priceless artifacts, the ornate furniture, the beautiful décor gained from a life time of exploiting and lying, "and more. It will all be yours, if only you can school yourself to conceal your emotions and not feel."

"But I never asked for this," Elsa replied, just as softly, tears streaking down her moonlit face like silver furrows dug in too deep in the snow, "I never wanted to be an Arendelle, I never wanted to hurt Anna, I never _want_ to hurt anyone!" her voice had risen in fear by the end, high pitched cry of uncertainty. The dark frost in the corners reared up and swirled through the room, freezing all it touched, swiping past the king who smiled benevolently at his eldest daughter though it looked more like sliced curve of an untold lie.

"But you _are_ an Arendelle," the quiet voice wormed gently through the ice chilling the room to something dangerous and unknown, "you _did_ hurt Anna, and Elsa…you _did_ hurt someone." He gestured to the man lying on the floor in front of them. Elsa flinched back from the prone figure, hands flying to her mouth to protect her soul from the sight.

The man was bruised and battered, his arms twisted in the wrong direction, protests gone awry, his legs shackled with chains that made heavy his plight. He gurgled softly, a low broken birdsong in his throat, and looked up at the two of them through eyes ringed with purple and blue of royalty. Elsa bit back a cry and breathed heavily. The scent of gunpowder, metal, and sharp copper rust hit her nose in a haze of wickedness and she flung her hands away from herself.

King Arendelle smiled again and retrieved the gun from across the room. He handed it back to Elsa who could barely hold it, her hands were so unstable. He put a comforting arm around her and directed her gun straight at the whining man.

"Shoot him." There was no room for error in his command.

Elsa shook her head rapidly, white blonde strands falling out of her bun in frantic wisps, "I-I can't…" she whispered terribly.

The King finally seemed annoyed, his arm tightening like a vice across the girl's shoulders as the cold, cold ice of the room became a vast ocean of unending white. "You've hurt him this much already," he snapped, black danger creeping along that white beyond and into his voice, "Why can't you finish the job?"

"Because HE ATTACKED ME!" Elsa cried out, her weapon nearly jolted out of her hands, "I had no idea he was there! I was afraid, he caught me by surprise, he - !"

"Be quiet, you sniveling coward," the King cut across her desperate tirade, "You are an Arendelle and as such you must uphold a certain level of decorum. You will inherit my kingdom, Elsa, you will be my heir. You are an Arendelle and so you will be feared and revered and forever shunned. You are the monarch and you shall dole out the punishment to those who dare betray you like this wretch who dared to try to assassinate you." He reached over and steadied the firearm in Elsa's hand. She could not tear her gaze away from the moaning mess bleeding all over their Persian rug. His pain struck brown eyes screamed out at her, icing her veins with uncertainty.

"Now, shoot him."

The sound of ocean ice breaking rang through the room.

...

"Jack Frost, what did you do?"

An insolent grin met her worried eyes. She frowned and twitched her shoulders, uncomfortable with being out in the open, longingly wishing she could conceal herself in the nearby shrubbery. "Jack," she said again sternly, "Tell me what you did."

"I didn't do anything," the boy said arrogantly, tossing back unruly strands of moon seeped hair, "Haven't a clue what you're talking about, Tooth." He grinned again and reached over, poking the tip of her sharp nose.

Tooth glared at his nonchalant position and jerked herself away from him, "Jack, you don't want to antagonize the Arendelle's," she warned, "nobody can take them on."

"Aren't you and your precious Guardians trying to?" Jack sneered, baring his ice teeth in fangs, "Aren't you all trying to recruit an army to kill the Arendelles?"

"They're not _my_ Guardians," Tooth snapped, "I'm _a_ Guardian! And you shouldn't insult us. We're the closest people able to defeat the Arendelles. If you joined us…"

"Tooth," Jack sighed, finally rousing himself off the grimy sidewalk, "Please don't start that again. I'm not joining the Guardians."

Tooth's thin chest puffed up in a decidedly birdlike fashion, "Why not?" she demanded, "What's wrong with the Guardians? We do noble work! We're saving lives, Jack! We give back to the poor, we spread hope and joy and love. Isn't that what you want?"

"Tooth," Jack said very gently, "You're a walking apothecary with a skewered sense of morals and an eye for poisons and perches from which to shoot people. You're a sniper that takes the teeth of the dead for trophies and leave silver coins upon their eyes so they can't see their sins. You work for Manny of Moon City, a person no more virtuous than King Arendelle. Don't you preach to me about being better!"

His voice had risen in passion by the end of his rant and his eyes spat venom hate. Tooth stepped back nervously, her hand sliding under her baggy tie-dye t-shirt for her gun. Jack heaved in heavy breaths and clenched his fists, trying to regain control.

"Well, riddle me this, Jack," Tooth broke in finally, "why did you say the revolution was beginning? There is no way, no way that you can take on the Arendelles on your own."

A horrid smile split Jack's face in a great divide. He cocked his head slightly and considered the blank wall before him, daring it to sing him a tune of the moon.

"That's the thing, Toothiana. I _can_."

...

A knock sounded on the door and it opened, cutting the room back to the world. A shy servant stuck his head in, assessing the scene.

A tumbled heap of a girl, limbs splayed on the floor, stains of broken dreams upon her pallid cheeks, a wishing star of a silver gun in front of her. A proud man, back straight, too content with the fortune he had amassed to concern himself with the shattered pieces of humanity falling like everlasting snow about his feet. And a body, asleep within a carmine puddle that seeped deeper into its place.

The servant swallowed nervously, a crack of ice inside the frozen scene.

King Arendelle's eyes snapped to him and he had to swallow a shriek. "Yes?" the King asked, voice deadlier than a viper writhing in the grass.

The servant swallowed again and rolled his eyes heavenward for peace of mind. He spoke in halting shades of fear, grey and blue clinking in uncertain tones about himself.

"Your majesty…there's been some interesting graffiti around the city…"

_**Chapter One Fin**_

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers**


	3. Chapter 2: Of Stars and Oaths

**I'd like to take a moment to thank all of my wonderful readers. You are all amazing and give feedback that warms my heart. I appreciate all of you so much, and hope that I don't disappoint you guys!**

**Title**: Revolution of the Moon

**Author**: HuaiYin

**Chapter**: 2: Of Stars and Oaths

* * *

The gun lay innocently on blue comforter, harsh edges softened by puffy lumps. The metal glinted under the light overhead. Elsa was a curled ball before it.

She had always equated guns to shooting stars because of how fast the silver would streak from places unknown when the discussions got violent. And the single loud bang always sounded like an exaltation of a wish to her, a bellow of melancholy for the soul you reaped.

Her door was locked, her tears were falling. The gun was a judge before her, solemn and condemning, but waiting for the verdict all the same.

_She prayed for unlocked doors, for secrets spilled…_

There was a rap at her door. All of a sudden the gun wasn't on the bed; it was in her hands, the barrel pointed like a snarled mouth toward the exit of the room.

Silence and then the soft syllables of her name came sliding under crack of the door, angel wing gentle and uplifting.

"Elsa?"

She lowered the gun; let it fall like a star from her hands. It bounced once and lay still, twinkling merrily under the light. She fisted handfuls of her white blonde hair, wrenching it from its previously coiled bun.

"Uhm…I wanted to check if you were alright. It's uhm…"

"_Anna_…" Elsa breathed with longing, unknowingly stretching toward the disembodied voice.

"It's Anna," the voice went on, "But uhm, anyway, when you and Father finally came out of the drawing room, you looked super upset and you rushed into your room. Then you missed dinner and when the maid bought you some you didn't let her in and I noticed it was still sitting out here. Are you…okay?"

No, she was not.

_But her holy words held no weight, no weight at all against the fortress of secrets wherein she lived; they merely tightened the lock and key, made her weep…_

Elsa didn't answer, didn't move. She could almost feel the disappointment from the other side of the door.

"Okay…well…" the voice said despondently, "I-If you want to talk, you know where to find me. Uhm…okay…"

"Bye…" Elsa whispered to the empty air.

"Bye." Footsteps sounded and then faded into the drip of the background and silence wormed around her once more.

A sort of half choked sob scratched itself out of her throat but she swallowed the rest and closed her eyes. She saw her little sister walking away from her, strawberry blonde braids swinging with the rhythm of her steps. Would she have chosen to wear comfortable clothes today or would she have dressed up so she could dream of a better day with somewhere to go? Anna had always been fanciful like that.

Elsa wondered if the freckles from childhood would still show on Anna. Hers had faded a bit and now almost blended in with her skin, though she often blamed this on the fact that she hadn't seen the sun in ages. Anna was frequently seen in the gardens however, so perhaps she had kept them.

She wondered if that light scar on Anna's temple was shimmering under the dim lights of the hallway as she walked away, the only mar to Anna's otherwise perfect beauty.

That scar was Elsa's only gift to her sister, bestowed when she was five and Anna only three. Anna had been too young to remember what had happened, had been young enough that the gush of red eroded away her memory. But Elsa would never forget the fear, the powerful, seizing, gut wrenching _fear_ she had felt as Anna fell and she, Elsa, wasn't fast enough, couldn't save her. A whimper worked its way out of her throat and she buried her head between the bars of her knees.

The last time she saw Anna was…was… she frowned, trying to think. Yes, the last time she had seen Anna was two months ago, at some business meeting. It had only been a quick glimpse before she had been swept away to go meet with her father's associate but they had locked eyes. Elsa had been shocked at how tall and mature her little sister had gotten.

They had locked eyes and to Elsa's dismay, Anna had lighted up like a Christmas tree and barreled toward her, heedless of the other guests. It took all of Elsa's training to slip away and not be found. It would have been easier, so much easier if Anna hated her, but she _didn't_. Anna didn't hate (but she should!) and it killed Elsa to know that she was still hurting Anna, even after all this time.

_Prayer is fragile, bound with twine. Secrets are dangerous, fortified with chains. Wishes are bombs, undiffused with bows. Mix the three in a starlit brew, serve it hot and serve it cold…_

Words were useless so Elsa wrapped herself up and cried instead, wishing she had time machine to take it all back.

**…**

King Arendelle frowned at the pictures on his mahogany desk, touching the images quizzically with his index fingers, tracing the curves of the moon and the words. His eyes snapped up and bore into his servant's causing the man to flinch, though, surely, the man was used to this treatment by now.

"Where did you say you found this trash, Kai?" his voice hissed, belly low into the carpet.

"At…the alleyway between 4th and 5th Street, your Majesty," Kai managed to say.

"I see…" the King traced the printed moon again, "well what do you think it means, Kai?"

Kai hesitated for a moment, trying to find the words that wouldn't cause the King to lop off his head. Finally he said, "I think that Moon City is trying to go to war with us, judging from the moon that the culprit painted, your Majesty."

A flicker of something like a smirk dashed across the King's face but just as soon as Kai thought he saw it the expression was gone. "Astute guess," the King said, pushing himself out of his chair, "But you're wrong, my loyal Kai."

Kai's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to defend his answer but the King was speaking again.

"Yes, Moon City uses the moon as their symbol, yes they have been plotting to overthrow us since the day they were conceived, but this is not their work. I know their work. Manny Moon is a shrewd, if silent fellow. His plots to destroy me and overtake my rule would not be some schoolyard scribbling splashed on some bricks!" the King scoffed haughtily.

"No…this is not Manny's work. Manny knows his limits. As he is now he has no chance against me. Even the most powerful of his zealots haven't a shred of hope against our city. Manny would wait to strike; he wouldn't flash his colors before his attack. He'd attack when we least expect it and give us no warning." The King paused and eyed Kai expectantly, expecting the man to weigh in.

"Well…I suppose you're right," Kai mumbled, dropping his gaze to the carpet, where the King's voice still slithered through the fibers, all-encompassing and inescapable, "So, who do you think did this, Sir?"

The King laughed and returned to his seat, drawing open the heavy burgundy carpets behind him to let in the moon.

"Just a simple child frustrated and throwing a tantrum. No harm could possibly come of him. Leave him be for now, let him play his games and toot his horn. He'll tire of it soon enough."

Kai bowed low and backed out of the room. He shut the door behind himself, leaving the Monarch of Arendelle alone in the dark with only the moon for company.

"Yes…let him play. Let him see just how empty his words of war will be…"

**…**

His backpack rattled comfortingly against the ridges of his spine. The cylinders of spray paint were rolling around merrily inside, like a pocketful of change just waiting to be spent on better things. He hummed through the black kerchief tied around his face as he loped down the dark streets with only the moon as a companion. People of Arendelle took curfew very seriously unless they were doing illicit activities for the King.

Jack titled his head back and threw off his hood for a better view of the waning moon. He winked at it and continued on. Within minutes he had reached his destination, the wall where he and Toothiana of Moon City had talked before the other day.

He set his backpack down and rolled his shoulders to relieve them of the weight. Still humming, he opened his backpack and pulled out the colors he had chosen for tonight. The cans gleamed under the moonlight, just like happy little stars.

He had always equated the silver of the cans to the lights of the heavenly stars because he always made a wish with every can. It wasn't so much of a wish as a solemn promise; promise to wrench the city of Arendelle out of the pathway of sin and destruction.

He'd do it for himself, for his little sister six feet under; sleeping with eyes wide open under silver coins, nestled with the crawling insidiousness of dirt.

One of the cans fell over, shoved by a twitching foot. He sat down heavily on the grimy concrete, locking his head behind his knees, the opal stones of his teeth clashing on the soft skin of his lips to withhold a cry.

_Promises are good as gold, liquid sunshine bathed in light…_

His lip was bleeding, bright star copper painting his tongue with the putrid taste of filthy pennies dropped in wishing wells. He raised his head and spat it out, narrowing cerulean eyes that repelled the moon at the wall before him. Gritting his teeth he managed to slam to his feet, grabbing the fallen can of spray paint as he did so. He was breathing heavily as memories conjured danced about him, silent ghosts, all in his head, but tangible all the same.

The cap of the can was wrenched off and dropped to the ground and he paid no heed as his foot crunched the plastic and ground it to dust. He was lost in his work, in the splutter of color that overrode the whispers of the long dead ghosts. The hiss of paint soothed his angry heart as he streaked the wall ablaze with promise gold and absinthe green.

_Oaths are better, platinum bonds forged by stars to lock one's tongue in place of hearts…_

He relished the acrid bite of the paint, craved the sting of chemicals in his eyes. Heedless of the moon starting to dip behind the ever watchful glass skyscrapers above him, he worked hard and fast, leaving no detail left undrawn.

_But I want a contract doused in red; want your life dribbling out of skin and into him…_

At last, he finished. Chest heaving, mouth gaping, he stepped back and took stock of his work. The fresh paint made the picture look alive and he smiled a secret sort of smile as he packed away his paints and ducked out of the alley.

The moon was setting now, the dark horizon slashed through with color. He cast a careless glance at the rosy east, painful stirrings in his chest. He hated the sky for turning so pretty. He wanted the moon and a cold silver cut night back on his heels, the moonlight a heavy weight on his back.

His phone rang, cutting through his musings. He tore off the kerchief shrouding his face and checked the message. Quietly, another smile stole across his face, cutting corves into the light dappled skin, dragging the night shadows back where they belonged.

**I understand what you would like me to do. I will carry it out next quarter. Await my signal.**

* * *

_**Standard Disclaimers  
**_


End file.
